


kiss me with adventure 'til I forget my name

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Series: PROMPT FILLS [5]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Drunken Shenanigans, I have not read the books, M/M, Meet-Cute, Prompt Fill, clary is a good bro, geek simon is alive and thriving, gray ace raphael??, hints at non incesteous clace, raphael is a sexy boxing instructor next door to his rehearsal studio, raphael looks like a greaser god straight outta the 1950s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-01 22:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10202087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: Simon's life is fairly predictable and he's comfortable with the quiet routine. Once a week he practices with the band, in his free time he binge watches Jessica Jones on Netflix and has dinner with his mother 'lest she send a police squad to his apartment after he misses two of her calls.He doesn't care for change, not one bit.Enter a boxing instructor who belongs on the pages of GQ.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatbloodyines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatbloodyines/gifts).



 

* * *

It's been two months since Simon's band, Rock Solid Panda, went bottom up and he found a new gig. 

Maureen had been overwhelmed with university and their other member had been flaky from the get go and was more than happy to drop the band.

 

Since then, Simon has taken up his guitar for a band that calls itself  _Shadowhunters._

The lead singer is a cocky blonde in black leather who has eyes for their drummer. Jace Wayland is a smart ass but he takes his position seriously and never misses a single rehearsal. As such, he and Simon have a sort of frenemies dynamic. Jace tolerates the latters geeky ramblings and Simon puts up with his showing up ten minutes late consistently because he can't survive without flawless hair, it works.  

Clarissa Fray is their perky drummer and subsequently, the person who rallies them for rehearsals at unspeakably horrific hours -  _mornings._ She runs on mochas and energy bars and somedays Simon screeches at her to  _'Please for the love of God, no more 'We can do this! Let's work together!' bordering on political speeches.'_ She's passionate and that's fantastic but she's not running for president, her peppiness isn't necessary. 

Their rehearsal space is next door to a boxing arena which means Simon has the pleasure of ogling sweaty bodies in between breaks. He has his eye on at least three of them but everyone knows someone like _that_ would never go for a geek in an indie band t-shirt and glasses. Even so, that doesn't stop him from hoping. 

Overall, it's not bad.

* * *

 

Simon's life is fairly predictable and he's comfortable with the quiet routine. Once a week he practices with the band, in his free time he binge watches Jessica Jones on Netflix and has dinner with his mother 'lest she send a police squad to his apartment after he misses two of her calls. He doesn't care for change, not one bit. 

Enter a boxing instructor who belongs on the pages of GQ. 

Oh boy.

* * *

 

Clarissa (Clary for short) adjusts her ponytail and follows Simon's line of sight. He may or may not be watching a rapidly spanish speaking Michelangelo's _David_ from across the room. From what she can see of the figure, his olive skin is muscled but not overly so, he has intense nearly black eyes and soft dark waves tumbling over his forehead when he demonstrates how to hit the punching bag just right. 

"Oh he's pretty," she remarks. 

Simon's cheeks turn light pink and one eyebrow rises as it does when he's feeling any strong emotion, not limited to embarrassment. He shrugs, eyes still laser focused on the instructor. 

"I guess. If...if you're into short guys." 

Clary folds her arms over his shoulder and openly watches as well. He's not her type but he's definitely Simon's whether he wants to admit it or not. He could use a boyfriend, girlfriend,  _someone._

She grins, mischief in her tone. "You know he can see us, right?" 

Simon's eyes nearly bug out as though he hadn't considered that possibility at all. Because a tall guy in tortoiseshell glasses and a panda shirt that read _Pan_ (space)  _Duh_ (in pansexual colors thank you very much - it was a gift from his well meaning sister) and his shorter ginger haired friend standing in the middle of the opposite room wasn't conspicuous, nope. 

The handsome stranger turns as Simon makes a run for it and Clary waves him over. What Simon Lewis doesn't know won't hurt him.

* * *

 

Jace takes in Simon's Modest Mouse t-shirt, a navy sweatshirt jacket, skinny jeans and converse. It's a far cry from clubbing wear though he doubts their geeky pal owns anything remotely sexy.

"Really, Lewis?"

Simon self consciously tugs at his jacket and makes what Jace assumes to be a pouty face. He ends up looking like someone told him his dog got ran over instead, going for the full  _'I really don't want to do this'_ grief face then, nice.

"It's not the red carpet, Jace. It's a club and it's dark, no one sees me anyway."

Clary begins plucking at Simon's jacket as he tries to swat her away. "Simon," she whines. He lasts half a second before surrendering if not to simply get rid of that voice. She grins, satisfied at having gotten her way. The last of the jacket is removed and he feels naked.

"You're missing something. Be right back," she says giddily. 

Jace cocks an unimpressed brow at Simon and smirks. He eyes the latter up and down, shaking his head. " _That's_ why we're going to the club." 

Alright that was cruel. There's nothing wrong with Simon's clothes and he certainly doesn't need to sex himself up to club hop just for some desperate person with low standards find him attractive. He's well versed in that already. 

"The 50's called. They want their black leather back," Simon taunted. That was a smooth line actually, good job Lewis. It's a shame that Clary isn't there to give him a high five for such a flawless comeback. 

Jace seems unaffected as he straightens his yes -  _black leather -_ jacket. He puts a hand over his heart and laments, "Ouch, Lewis. You really got me there, I'm wounded. Truly." 

Simon is about the call the entire thing off but Clary returns and she's talking a mile a minute about accenting your assets and he cannot keep up. Regardless he allows her to force him into a jacket that's similar to Jace's but varies in the fact that the zipper is asymmetrical and there are more buttons. Next, she cards her fingers through his hair with a sticky product on them - it smells good at least. 

"There," she says, stepping back to admire her handiwork. 

Jace whistles appreciatively and Simon really doesn't want to look in the mirror if  _he_ approves. "You clean up nice, Lewis." 

Simon sighs.

 

+

 

They abandon him five minutes in to grind on one another under flashing fluorescent lights and Simon hates them vehemently. He could be bingeing Sherlock and popping open that new jar of mango salsa right now but  _no._ He'd allowed Hansel and Gretel to drag him to a club he does not want to be at. 

"Gimme another," he slurs after his fifth strawberry daiquiri. The bartender props her elbows up on the counter and gives him a _haven't you had enough_ look. He's a lightweight at a sketchy club who will likely die alone, he deserves one stab at happiness. And if it comes in a bottle, who is she to judge? 

"Please," he adds.

She begins to mix the drink and speaks loudly over the thrumming music. "Last one and then it's home for you. I can call you a cab?"  

He shakes his head no adamantly and points to a couple nearing the middle of the dance floor. The handsome blonde is whispering in the girl's ear, causing her cheeks to pinken. "Mmm-mm. Can't go yet, 'm waiting on them." 

Poor guy. It's no fun being the third wheel. "This one's on the house," she says, sliding it to him. 

 

+

 

Simon is feeling like the sexiest man in Brooklyn after too many drinks. He stumbles onto the dance floor, noting that Clary and Jace are long gone and sways to the beat. Rhianna's  _We Found Love_ is playing when a hand on his shoulder makes him freeze. 

It's followed by a voice like velvet in his ear. "You call that dancing?" 

Simon swivels around clumsily and the stranger effortlessly catches him before he topples. Either he's had too much to drink (a distinct possibility) or Michelangelo's David has escaped from the museum...or the training room next to his rehearsal studio. Or both. He looks the man up and down and trails a finger over his chest.

"Clary's right...you're like _really_  pretty," he slurs. 

The shorter man smirks and flirtily tilts his head to the side, dark eyes glimmering. "Raphael Santiago." 

Because Simon was dropped on his head at birth or something equally damaging, he's painfully awkward especially in the face of a beautiful man who would normally look right past him. He extends a hand and doesn't bother waiting for the other man to take it. He literally takes matters into his own hands and finds the fingers quite attractive if not blurry. That is to say, he's holding a stranger's hand. 

"Lewis. Simon Lewis." 

 Raphael glances down at their hands and back up at a hazy eyed Simon. He's all pink cheeks, glasses and killer smile and Raphael had recognized him from the first. It goes both ways, the staring. Sometimes when he takes a break from teaching, he sits and listens to the music. More than once he has found himself humming a tune and thinking of a shy boy with plastic rimmed glasses. Said person is going to upchuck if he keeps dizzily swaying in what will never pass for dancing.

 

"You shouldn't be dancing," he says, taking Simon by the hand and leading him toward the bar. 

Simon babbles and clings to Raphael's arm as they weave through a crowd of sweaty gyrating bodies.

"Oh! We're goin' there? You're gonna buy me a drink, aren't you? The pretty girl gave me one for free because my friend (he hiccups) left me here. Could be kidnapped or killed or tied up, she wouldn't care. But," Simon giggles. "I don't care if it's _you._ " 

Raphael lowers them both to a sofa near the bar and continues to hold onto Simon as if protecting him is top priority. That makes one of you, Simon thinks. 

"No more alcohol for you," Raphael murmurs. 

"So _so_ pretty," Simon slurs, petting Raphael's face with his palm. The image in front of him blurs and suddenly, "Hey, hey there's two of you! Good," he hiccups. "I can keep one and the bar," he gestures at the club. "-can have the other. That'sa good deal, right? Is fair." He reaches for the second Raphael and nearly stumbles out of his seat. 

The actual Raphael grabs him 'round the waist and saves him for a second time. "Whoa. He's busy right now, you can talk to him later. How about you talk to me instead? You have a band?" 

Simon brightens and allows the other to shoulder his weight. He feels sloppy and loose. He's 99% sure he's hallucinating the sexy boxing instructor from next door. Why would he be at the same club? He doesn't even look like he fits in here, not that Simon does either.

"Shadowhunters," he replies with a fond smile. "And _you_ , mister, are the hot boxing guy...thing. Y'know with the sandbag and the black shirt...why you always wear black?" 

Raphael scans the crowd for a vaguely familiar redhead who'd encouraged him to come here. He finds nothing but a sea of faces he does not know or recognize. Simon is his responsibility it seems but that doesn't have to be a bad thing. He's not sober either but just enough to ensure Simon Lewis doesn't do something reckless. 

"No reason," he lies. He'd noticed how Simon's eyes tracked him even more in the color and vowed to wear it more often. 

"Hey," Simon says. Instinctively, Raphael turns his head and suddenly warm lips find his in the semi darkness of the club. 

+

 

Simon hums under his breath and sinks his teeth into Raphael's bottom lip.

_Fuck._

Raphael doesn't throw him off or ask him what the hell he thinks he's doing and that makes kissing him even hotter. If he's a figment of Simon's tipsy imagination, he's determined to enjoy Raphael while he's there, or not there. Semantics. The Raphael he can see and touch slides a hand around the nape of his neck and licks the seam of Simon's lips. When his tongue caresses Simon's, he tastes of a fruity cocktail - sweet and sinfully delicious. 

A new song begins and Simon's hand slips under a black v-neck. Raphael's skin is hot and he wants every inch of it pressed against him as it has been in every fantasy he has ever dreamed up. God he feels like he's on fire and every vibration of the music is electric. 

 

_Scrape my knees, whatever_

_I'm gonna let them bleed_

_Got no turning back, I'mma flirt with that_

 

Raphael moans softly and kisses with such enthusiasm that it leaves Simon panting when they break for air. "So good, nnnnghhh," Simon moans. He shamelessly skims a hand up a firm thigh and buries his face in his partner's neck. 

 

_Cliffs edge, you turn me on_

_You lead me on_

_You got me on a cliff's edge, where I belong_

 

Raphael is harder than he's ever been in his life and touching Simon is  _incredible_ but Simon is wasted and he's not going to disrespect his boundaries like that. Reluctantly, he pushes him back to his end of the small sofa and sucks in deep breaths to compose himself. 

Simon's face falls, dismayed. His lips are kiss slicked and red, his hair is completely wrecked and temptation has never looked sweeter.

"I thought you wanted me?"

Temptation is also drunk off their ass and will regret every minute of this come morning. 

"I do," Raphael confesses. He did, he does. The song taunts as he tries to think of anything but the way Simon's hips felt under his palms. When he's confident he can walk without embarrassing himself, he decides to seek the ginger haired girl. 

 

_Closing in closer to you_

_This could take all night_

_Caving and crumbling on your hips_

_Your lips, they're mine_

 

Simon allows himself to be pulled to his feet and manages to slide his hand back under Raphael's shirt. The latter flinches and takes a deep breath. After a moment he removes the curious hand and cradles it between both of his. Hopefully that'll stave off temptation for both of them. 

"Let's find your friend and we'll go from there," he states. Simon gives him a dopey grin and Raphael falls a little harder; bleary glasses, awkward stumble and all. 

* * *

 

Simon wakes with a pounding headache and a tightly clutched cocktail napkin in hand. The handwriting is neat with it's graceful loops and perfect cursive in black ink. He squints at it and reads:

_(917) 508-5127_

_Call me when you're sober. Would love to take you out for coffee._

_Raphael Santiago_

_"The hot boxing guy thing"_

The previous night returns in flashes: a plush mouth and teeth nipping at his lips, hot skin under his palm, an overwhelming temptation to lick the hollow of someone's neck. Wait. Not just anyone. 

_Raphael._

Raphael Santiago whose number is on a wrinkled napkin, who's cologne still lingers on his shirt.

What if he had made an utter ass of himself last night? No, surely he couldn't have been that bad if it ended with a phone number. Maybe Clary can clue him into the missing pieces or Jace even. He hits her name on the phone and launches into conversation before she has a chance to say hello.

 

"I made out with the hot guy with the hair and the dark eyes and his name is Raphael. And he's  _really_ good at kissing but I'm freaking out here. I don't know what to do and I have his number?? I think I called him a _thing,_ Clary help." 

His day gets even worse when Jace responds instead. "Didn't think you had it in you, congrats man! I'd break out the champagne but you might decide to kiss me next." 

"JACE," he growls, sitting up on the sofa and promptly regretting it. 

"Lewis finally made a move," Jace announces faintly in the background. Simon is going to kill him in a very vicious drawn out manner that may or may not include hair products.

Clary picks up and squeaks into the phone excitedly, "I'm so proud of you!"

She would be, of course. He has a feeling she helped orchestrate the meeting seeing as she'd insisted Simon go with them to the club. He doesn't know whether to thank her or give her a nice come to Jesus talk. 

He groans, flopping back onto the sofa. "God, Clary. Not so loud."

"Sorry," she whispers.

"Now I can't even hear you," he complains. What he wouldn't give for an aspirin and a nice dark room. Sunlight streams through the living room curtains and he rolls onto his side to block it out. 

She clears her throat and manages a normal volume. "Tell me about last night." 

"What? ...that's why I'm calling." 

Jace snorts in the background and Simon hears a muffled thump. He can hear the two of them giggling and it's not very nice to laugh at your useless lump of a hungover friend, Simon thinks. 

Clary sobers and asks in a very serious tone, "What do you remember?" 

He massages his temples and tries to ignore the throbbing pain. "Uhh something about cliffs? And I'm pretty sure I kissed him, oh god. I can never show my face around there ever again. We'll have to find a new recording studio and-"

Her voice is sharp and precise when she speaks. It makes for a stabbing sensation in his head. "SIMON."

"Sorry," he whimpers. 

"It's okay. Now take a deep breath and I'll be there in ten. Stay where you are." 

He's so grateful that he could cry. Maybe she can shut the curtains.

* * *

 

Four days pass and memories resurface from that night. He remembers how it felt to finally kiss Raphael, how he'd melted into it like he'd been waiting for Simon to make the first move all this time. If the purple bruise on his neck is anything to go by, Raphael would've happily skipped second base and went straight for the home run had Simon not been such a lightweight. He prods at it and feels warm and tingly at the thought of Raphael's lips on his skin, his tongue-

He could really use a cold shower. 

He's heading toward the bathroom when his phone rings. It's ten a.m. on a Sunday and he's still recovering from that night. As such he doesn't even bother to see if there's a name attached to the number. 

 

"Buenos dias," says a voice like velvet on the other end. Simon fumbles and nearly drops the phone. 

 "Hhh...hi?"

"Your friend gave me your number. I felt I should check on you." 

Humiliation washes over Simon when he realizes Raphael is merely calling to ensure he hasn't kicked the bucket. Unfortunately, he's still alive. 

"Oh. Thanks for that. I haven't died," he says and mentally kicks himself for being a complete idiot. 

Raphael chuckles. "That's a relief. If you died, who would I take out?" 

The phone topples to the floor, Simon makes a mad scramble for it and finds it atop a pile of dirty t-shirts. 

"Wha? Um. Did you-?"

Raphael effortlessly replies and Simon envies him for how easily flirting comes to him. "Ask you out? Yes. Interested?" 

"Yes!" Stupid, stupid, stupid. Too enthusiastic. He's going to know you never leave your apartment and your last date was a disaster and-

"4:30 tomorrow, I'll pick you up." 

Oh.

This is real. This is happening.

"My house...my um, well it's more of a place where other people live. They live with me. Well not _with_ me. God, Simon. It's an apartment, yeah. That's the word. Do you need directions or?" 

Raphael laughs on the other end and part of Simon wants to call it off before it even begins. He may be hot and a great kisser, he may have nice thighs and a voice that sounds like sex but- _he's not calling off a damn thing._  

"Message them to me. I'll find you."

Simon nods at the phone, forgetting the only person witnessing it is a pigeon outside of the window. "Okay, that's great. It's a date!" Yes, rhyming will make Raphael want him, gah. 

"I'll see you soon, Simon."

"Yeah. Bye."

He heads straight for the bathroom. 

* * *

 

It's 3:05 in the afternoon and Clary is rejecting every shirt Simon holds up. He's down to four. "You can't wear that. Red washes you out."

Make that three.

She stretches out on her stomach on his bed and sighs as if he's a lost cause. It's a minute or two before she springs up and begins rifling through his closet with renewed interest. "Do you still have that leather jacket?" 

Simon scratches his neck uncomfortably. It's laughable really that he's nervous to meet a guy who he felt up not even a week ago. His life is a hot mess.

"It's in the back, why?"

She aptly plucks it from the hanger and pairs it with a charcoal polo and dark jeans. "Perfect. Now to do something with that hair. Your boyfriend has a pompadour when he's not being a  _hot boxing_   _thing_. He has that 1950's greaser aesthetic."

Why did he think asking her for help was a good idea? He's a glutton for punishment, apparently. 

"He's not my boyfriend." 

She tosses the clothes at him and smirks. "If you play your cards right, he will be. Get dressed, I'm going to make you irresistible." 

-

Irresistible means a leather jacket, circa '50's hair mixed with his own style. Honestly he doesn't look half bad. That is to say,  _he_ would make a move for a guy like himself - this sexed up version of Simon Lewis. 

* * *

 

She's right on the money about the 50's deal Raphael has going on. Simon is greeted by a sleek black Jaguar from another era and it's owner who blends in perfectly with his pompadour, leather jacket  _(wow he makes it look good),_ dark jeans and classic white t-shirt. 

He's somewhere between Elvis and James Dean and Simon is drooling over both the man himself and his car.

Raphael, gentleman that he is, opens Simon's door for him and grins proudly as the other runs his fingers over the flawless interior. He slides behind the steering wheel and takes a moment to look over Simon in a way that makes the other blush. 

"That's a nice jacket," he murmurs in appreciation. 

Simon glances down at it and immediately begins to fidget with the zipper. "My friend dressed me," he blurts out. It sounded better in his head. 

Raphael smiles and Simon can't help but awkwardly grin back. "I talk a lot when I get nervous. I, um, I like yours too. Your jacket. Is it leather?" 

Jesus.

Christ.

Simon. 

Get it together.

Raphael starts the car and saves Simon from having to make eye contact though he is adorable when he's flustered.

"It's belonged to my grandfather. It's vintage." 

"And the car?"

"I bought and restored it myself. It's a '59 Jaguar XK150, drives like a dream." 

Raphael Santiago is perfection and Simon is practically a puddle in his seat. "You're an actual greaser aren't you?" He teases. Raphael outside of training belongs in another decade and Simon is more than into that. It's even better than sweaty training Raphael with ungelled hair and a black t-shirt. 

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

He's  _flirting._

Simon takes a stab in the dark and hopes to not land on his head. "Maybe you can show me later." 

Raphael bites his lip and pulls over in front of a tiny coffee shop. Naturally it's a relic that managed to survive WWII and being passed down from owner to owner. Despite the prices having changed, the inner window still boasts: 

_Coffee 5¢_

_Get More! Endless cup!_

 

Simon nearly forgets to breathe when Raphael bridges the small gap between them and brushes his lips over Simon's cheek. It's feather light and is over as quickly as it began but it makes his heart hammer loudly in his chest. If he keeps this up they won't make it past the doors. 

"We'll see," Raphael purrs. He steps out of the vehicle and even takes Simon's hand to help him out the door. 

+

 

They sit for hours at a tucked away table near the back and share parts of their lives. Simon learns that Raphael has 6 brothers and 1 sister - all of whom he adores. He has two rescue cats by the names of Bane and Alexander which Simon thinks are rather formal names for cats but that's neither here nor there. Additionally, Raphael has some sort of vendetta against the sun which is fine by Simon - he's still peeved about it glaring at him through the curtains when he was nursing a horrible hangover. 

Speaking of which, the purple bruise is still there and hiding under the collar of his shirt. He can't stop grinning when he thinks about it which proves to be rather awkward when Raphael is mid fondly talking about his beloved mama's tres leches cake. 

"Is there something on my face?" Raphael questions, wiping at his cheek with a linen napkin.

Simon grins and rubs a hand over the spot. "I have a bruise is all."

Instantly, Raphael's eyes fill with concern. "You're hurt?" 

If he's going to stick around he might as well get used to Simon's clumsiness. However  _he_ is responsible for this one. 

"Not that kind of bruise." Simon's eyes dart around the room to ensure no one is eavesdropping. Call him old fashioned but he's only kiss & tell when it comes to Clary. Strangers are not privy.

"The uh, the...the biting sucking kind? The..." he trails off, cheeks flaming. He chooses to pour entirely too much sugar into his coffee in hopes that Raphael won't address it. 

Because he's an asshole (but not really), he does.

Plush pouty lips curl up in a smirk that makes Simon weak in the knees. "Oh? Could be dangerous. I can examine it for you if you'd like." 

Smooth. 

Simon vigorously stirs his drink and stifles a nervous laugh. "Are we playing doctor now?" Shit. That came out more sexual than he'd intended. He's not into role play but he's game for anything that involves stripping down Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome. 

Under the table, Raphael stretches his leg out between Simon's who drops his spoon and inhales sharply. The heat from a chiseled thigh travels and his entire body tingles. If he's falling apart over a  _leg,_ what might it be like to touch the rest of Raphael? 

"I'll-I'll um get the tab," he stammers, pointing toward an old fashioned cash register. The older clerk takes her time and he taps on the counter impatiently. Meanwhile the only sign Raphael is affected is the way his eyes rove over Simon's body. Otherwise he's cool and collected. 

Simon doesn't bother collecting the change. He yanks Raphael up and hauls him outside as the other smirks. 

* * *

 

He struggles to work the key to his own apartment and drops them at least once before Raphael takes over.

"This is home," Simon announces, sweeping an arm around the lackluster place. He's been living there for six months and still has cardboard boxes of various junk and gadgets strewn about. His sofa is the nicest furniture in the entire apartment and that's only because Clary's parents felt sorry for him. It's a black microfiber number that's not fancy but it's comfortable.

Raphael closes the door behind him and discreetly looks around. "No pets?"

"Me and living things? No bueno," he replies, pointing to a withered fern. He'd managed to keep her alive for two weeks. He'd named her (yes _her)_ Rebecca because his sister can be really annoying at times and then it died and that was awkward but...

Raphael makes a face and runs a finger over a browned leaf. "You weren't kidding." 

Feeling bold and the tiniest bit desperate, Simon licks his lips and strides forward until they're nearly chest to chest. "You didn't come here to pick at my lousy plants."

Raphael's mouth parts, he shakes his head no. "Give me a tour?" 

Simon is quaking with nerves and his palms are damp but he's sober and this is happening. Maybe they're taking things too fast or maybe ogling a guy for well over six months is moving at a glacial pace. Either way, he takes Raphael's hand and leads him toward the bedroom.

"We'll take a shortcut." 

 

They barely make it through the door before Simon is crowding Raphael up against the wall and licking a hot strip up his neck. It's something he's been dying to do since that first hazy night at the bar. 

As it turns out, naked Raphael is even prettier. 

* * *

 

Simon stretches languidly and presses his lips to a bare shoulder blade. Raphael's tangled up in his discount sheets like he belongs right where he is and Simon feels his heart swell with hope. Their legs are overlapping and the sheet is riding low to expose the curve of his hip, Simon bites his lip and says a silent prayer to whoever is listening because  _damn._ Boxing really pays off. 

He traces the line of Raphael's spine with his fingertips and savors how his partner shivers. 

"Good morning beautiful," he says. 

Nope that wasn't cheesy as hell at all. It's worth it, however, when Raphael shifts until he's on his back. His dark eyes shimmer and he  _blushes._

"Morning," he murmurs, voice still heavy with sleep.

His hand finds Simon's overtop of the sheets and the latter swoons when lips press against the back of it.

Simon's mind is fuzzy and he's possibly the most awkward guy in the entire world but he takes a swing at making a move anyway. "I realize we kinda skipped ahead some but um would you maybe like to be my...my something?" 

"Are you asking me out?"

"...I don't know. Guess that depends on what your answer is." 

Raphael pulls Simon's back against his bare chest and whispers, mouth to Simon's ear, "I'd love to be your something." 

And so it begins.

* * *

 

Clary adjusts the microphone and takes a seat in front of it. Reality beckons and it's back to rehearsal for Simon but he doesn't mind. He has a date with the hottest modern day greaser to have ever graced the Earth on Friday. He might as well have a flashing neon sign on his chest that says:

_I think I'm in love_

Because Clary is one step away from pulling out a pair of pom pom's and cheering. 

"It was the jacket wasn't it?"

He groans and plucks at his guitar strings. "Go badger Jace."

She puts her hair up in a messy bun and adjusts the microphone. "I already know what he's been up to, where's the fun in that?"

In no universe does he want to know what they do when he's not around. "Spare me."

Green eyes shimmer with mischief, "Jace has a tattoo on his-"

GOD.

"He stayed the night," Simon blurts out. No no no  _no._ He'd rather spill the beans than hear intimate details about Jace Wayland. 

She squeals and shakes her hands in delight. "Simon," she says, dragging out the syllables. "You have a boyfriend!" 

He's about to put up a protest and pay her back with a long winded speech about privacy when he suddenly forgets how to human. Raphael is sauntering toward them with dark eyes that should not be allowed to look that sexy in public. 

Clary beams and silently mouths - _'WOW,'_ much to his rising embarrassment. 

Simon's _something_ smirks at her and he's wearing that black v-neck again. It's practically an aphrodisiac and the sight of it floods Simon's mind with how incredible he looks without a stitch of clothing. Rehearsal is going to be a bust at this rate. 

 

"I believe we've met."

Wait, what?

She throws a wink in his direction and Simon feels completely out of the loop. "You're welcome," she says smugly. 

He adjusts his glasses and stands beside of Raphael. It's not that he's jealous, it's just that he's jealous.

"For-for what?"

Clary clasps her hands together and smiles proudly. " _You_. I sent him to the club." 

He knew it! She'd been meddling and Raphael having been there that night wasn't a coincidence at all. Still he can't even bring himself to be peeved. He groans and chides himself for thinking she'd been anything but supportive. 

"Thanks," he mumbles.

Raphael smirks and bumps his shoulder lightly. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me now, amigo." 

Simon finds the idea of keeping Raphael more than appealing. They're brand new and yet it feels like they've been down this road before, maybe in another life. He intertwines their hands and squeezes. 

"I don't mind."

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> my first au in this fandom, yay! yes they move rather fast but they kinda do in the show as well so. also can you blame them?? just ~look~ at how pretty they both are.
> 
> anyways I've never written a fic this long so drop me a kudo? a nice comment? take pity upon my rambling fic?  
> -
> 
> title is from "cliff's edge" by the incredible bi hayley kiyoko and the video is gorgeous:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ZfCUM1uyvw
> 
> simon's pan-duh shirt  
> https://www.redbubble.com/people/gyenayme/works/21550206-pan-duh-panda-pansexual-lgbt-pride?grid_pos=3&p=t-shirt&style=mens
> 
> and leather jacket  
> http://mediaus.topman.com/wcsstore/TopManUS/images/catalog/TM64M07LBLK_Large_F_1.jpg
> 
> are real  
> -
> 
> can I get an amen for greaser!raphael? I'm so weak for that hair, his jackets, the outdated yet sensual way he flirts. he's a relic and I love my grandpa son <3


End file.
